


Whom only Hell forgives … even if barely

by GothicReaper



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Action, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, POV First Person, homicidal sociopaths, the F-word is used. Even more.
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-26
Updated: 2015-09-26
Packaged: 2018-04-23 11:11:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4874506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GothicReaper/pseuds/GothicReaper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Jack ever asked for in her miserable life was a cold beer and a good kill (and maybe a hot lay to celebrate both) but when she got recruited by Commander Awesome and her marvelous Space Knights, she finds out the hard way that even one seriously messed-up bitch can only go so far without cracking. </p>
<p>And who would have thought that it needs a real maniac to mend a maniac?<br/>~ A different perspective of my main story, told by our most favorit homicidal sociopath ~</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prelude

My name is Jack.

'Course that isn't the name I was born with, but it's all the name you will ever get from me. And damn right, I don’t give a flying fuck about your opinion, so don’t get any ideas. But maybe... maybe you'd rather prefer to call me 'Subject Zero,' like those bastards who created me. To them I wasn't a child, maybe not even a human. Less than an animal, I was their job, their experiment, their subject; my continued existence justified merely through my body's ability to suffer and survive another dose, another probing, another mind-fuck.

I vaguely remember that there had been others like me, kids ripped away from their families to be thrown into Hell. Sometimes I think I can see them in my dreams, though their faces remained blurred. Hear their screams. I had killed some of them in The Pit, hadn't I?

More drugs. Abuse. Violence. Isolation. Deceit. In their boundless ignorance, those Cerberus assholes believed they could control me by breaking first my body and then my fucking mind.

Guess what? They were wrong. So terribly wrong.

But you already know what happened eventually. You have seen the ruins of the Teltin facility, haven’t you? You have walked the dim corridors; you have seen the old blood stains marring the floors. Maybe you have still been able to smell death. Was the rotten corpse of that doctor still pinned against the wall in the main hall; there over the one-way mirror of my cell? Amazing what one enraged biotic is capable of, especially if untainted by any concepts of morality or mercy.

So this is my fucking warning to everybody still hiding out there:

Beware.

Beware the demons you call.

They might come screaming for your blood.

Too bad you can't see me now, or you would see my smile. There's not much left that makes me smile, but recalling how I lifted the Doctor up with the powers they unleashed in me and then drove that metal table-leg through his squirming body... Oh and the screams. The chaos. The terror...

The memory still sends a warm shiver down my spine, a soothing balm encompassing every piece of me and numbing my soul. Sounds weird? Fuck me, you have no idea. I haven’t even started. And then there is killing... yes; killing makes feel even warmer. It's better than chocolate, better than a Red trip, better than sex. Hell, it’s better than having chocolate while high on Red Sand and screwing some well-hung dude.

But the point is, I survived.

And I also survived the pirates that picked up my shuttle shortly after leaving Pragia; I endured while my body recovered from being spent beyond its limits; bid my time during more violence and rape.  Poor bastards. How could they have known that there was nothing left that could be done to me? By the time we reached Omega, they were all dead.

Funny. Now that I think about it I can recall another quote, scribbled with a red magic marker on the wall of some dirty restroom on Omega: "Life's a journey". How ironic. Shithouse poetry; the only place to find truth these days.

And so my journey begun. To what end? I don't know. Things have happened. Things, I wouldn't have believed possible. And as certainly as I evolved from the scared bloodstained girl that stumbled out of Teltin, I changed again.

Beware.

Because it’s me who is coming for you.

**.~'*'~.**

  
_May 2185, Blue Suns Prison ship Purgatory. Six months after attacking the Cerberus training facility_

Cryo.

See, cryo is a marvelous thing.

If I concentrate hard enough I can hear my heart beating, once, perhaps twice as the minute passes by. Then another, and the minutes melt into hours. Days. At some point I always lose count. Not as if it mattered much. My mind’s floating, my body hibernating. No sounds. No feelings. No pain. I am drifting and there’s something peaceful within this perfect timelessness. I'm not exactly dreaming, but it feels close. Maybe this is what death is like.

Sometimes my thoughts flutter, though. I’m responding to the drugs they injected me to force my body into hibernation. Sometimes people cannot handle the shit they give you to slow down the metabolism. You got defrosted and come out as vegetables. Some just die off, the lucky bastards. As a biotic your chances are slightly better, yet the dose that is coursing through my veins would have killed all but the most powerful adept. They are afraid, and rightfully so.

Because I, I am no ordinary biotic.

But you will see that for yourself eventually.

Kuril finally realized it was too dangerous to keep me in my cell only to be dragged out for their entertainment. I think I had killed another two or three guards before they managed to drug me into unconsciousness. Heh, I hope it felt like nailing a goddamn corpse. The warden shoved me in the freezer and so I’m once again biding my time.

In my head, I’m laughing again.

Dead. They are all so fucking dead. They just haven’t realized it yet.

**.~'*'~.**

  
_15th September 2185. Still on that bloody prison ship._

The toes on my left foot still feel fuzzy and I really really hope they haven’t died off during cryo. A self-amputation ranks about as high on my wish-list as talking to Cerberus without snuffing their lights out.

And just look who I’m talking to. Not one but three of those Cerberus idiots. Not my day. Not at all.

They actually expect me to board on their ship.

Over my cold dead ass.

However, a bit of curios surreality remains. They came to bargain with Kuril about me. But not to drag me back into another lab; oh no. They need me for a job. Credits and all. What the hell? Do they expect me to pay taxes next? Well, if anything they found out pretty soon how much worth the Warden’s word held; namely zip. Still a shame. I would have enjoyed loading that sonovabitch on the next ride to the afterlife myself.

Cerberus.

My hands curl into white-knuckled fists on their own.

I can tell you there is nothing, absolutely nothing in this fucking universe I would rather see than all of them obliterated so thoroughly, not even one trace of them remains.

“Stay the fuck away from me,” I say to them, wanting only to grab a shuttle and get the hell out of Purgatory. I would have freed myself eventually. I owe them nothing.

"Would watch my tongue, if I were you."

My head whips around. Blah blah. As if the snooty cheerleader bitch isn’t enough, I now also got lectured by someone who looks like a cheesy hobby gangsta. And the other? A commander? Of what exactly? The girl scouts’ cookie platoon?

I sneer at them.

But this Commander keeps staring at me. And then her mask slips. Surprise, surprise. Suddenly I look into old, hard eyes. Danger so easily to miss with that doll's face. That's what I love about my scars and tats. No misunderstandings. They tell all those idiots out there exactly who they try to screw with.

So I just glare back for the sake of it and then I realize she wonders if any of this is worth the trouble. If I am worth the trouble. I can see it, the reckoning, so clear in her cold, cold eyes. Bam, bullet to my head. Problem solved. Nothing to lose good sleep about. Hmm. Interesting. No the Cerberus rank and file I used to know. They rarely do killing. Not until they are perfectly certain to have sucked even the last iota of usefulness from you.

And then she is presenting me the bait. Two words. I feel my mouth go dry. My heart beats faster. Inevitably I think of that fairytale. You know, the one about the witch sitting all day long in her fucking candy house. “Do come in, no harm shall happen to you.” Yeah; no harm, my ass.

Aw, screw this. I go for it; hook, line and sinker. Can’t let a chance like this pass.

Two words: database access.

The witch is going to choke on me.

**.~'*'~.**

  
_22th September 2185. Cerberus frigate “Normandy”._

So her name is Shepard. Commander Shepard, the Spectre. Uh-huh.

Can't say I heard about her. But then I've never given a damn about Citadel politics. Or any politics. All those weaklings hiding behind their money and offices. Just thinking about it makes me sick. I mean, shouldn’t they at least try to keep the shit from hitting the fan?

Anyway, I’m watching her closely. The mask is back and she’s making a big show of dicking around importantly. I won’t be fooled by her face again. I know what I’ve seen.  
And I better stay sharp. This is a ship full of weird weirdos and Shepard is all but their little queen.

For one, the strangest sight isn’t the outgrown krogan flashing it in a tank, or that trigger-happy amphibian on steroids in the lab. Or that freakish AI, everybody calls EDI. It also isn’t the cold-eyed turian with the damaged face who seems - of all things - intent on getting into the panties of our Ms. Goodie-two-shoes here. No, it is that old merc.

Ex-Blue Suns. Butted heads with the wrong end of a shotgun and survived, curiously with most of its wits still intact.  
Jessie, huh? It takes me days to realize he isn’t complaining 'bout some hoe who had kicked his scarred ass out of her bed but the prehistoric rifle he is dragging around.

But yeah, guess it’s just what old men do. Ranting all day long. Still kinda funny. He actually made me laugh with his shotgun story.

He keeps calling me princess, though. Guess I have to kill him after all.

Too bad. I think I’m about to like him.


	2. Remembrance is just another way to die

**Blind Wanderer**

_Crows_   
_Feasting on my heart_   
_Scarring my eyes_   
_And so I wander_   
_The eternal maze_   
_Of broken mirrors_   
_Bleeding_   
_Shards of hate_   
_For redemption_   
_is no more_

  
**.~'*'~.**

_17 th September 2185. Day 1 after Purgatory. Normandy._

The bitch’s lips tremble.

Then pull back into an ugly ugly sneer. I gather my biotics. I will wipe that bloody sneer out of the cheerleader’s face! Cerberus. In front of my mind’s eye she is them all. She is the moron who’s idea it was to built the facility. The guards who electroshocked me just to see me piss myself. The lab assistant cunt who injected the hardcore acid, making 8-year old me hallucinate I was eaten by thousands spiders. She is the doctors who watched with their uncaring eyes how I lay sobbing on the floor of my cell, trying to cringe away from my nightmares.

Hatred bubbles over. My hearing. My vision. It all got swallowed up by the raging lust to kill her. Fuck biotics. I’ll rip out her rotten heart with my bare hands!

I jump forward – and stop midway. Arms around my middle, pulling me back. Away from my righteous kill.

Instinctively, I grab for my biotics. Never mind. I can still tear her apart from a distance. I can still… The turian. No! He had been sitting on the Mess’ table and now he is dragging her away; vanishing with her in her cabin.

I struggle harder but those arms are like vices shackling me. We are moving, further and further away. Then the doors of the elevator shut in my face. Insults drip from my lips.

“For hell’s sake, Kiddo, will you calm down?”

It’s the merc. How did he dare…

I realize it is over. Inside, a part of me is howling in frustration. A fucking big part. The rest fights to subdue the terror his grip causes in me. His breath tickling my neck. Trapped. Helpless. Suddenly, I’m once again the little girl fighting against the restraints cutting her wrists, whimpering pathetically for them to stop hurting her. I’m trembling.

With hate.

With fear.

This is the worst. So disgusting.

And then… the next moment he let go and I get spat back into reality. I’m in one of the cargo holds, the one that houses the ex-Blue Sun. He locks the door then sits down on his cot, snatching up a tattered magazine, boots prodded on a folding chair. It’s too much. The feel of humiliation is overwhelming; bursting out from me in a wave of uncontrollable rage.

I slam my fists against the closed door. Pain, crisp and sharp jolts up my arms, pushing aside the shame.

Hurt. Oh yes. Sweet, numbing hurt. My best and oldest friend.

I yell and hit again, drinking it all in. Let the pain take me apart and made me anew. Feel the warmth washing down my spine. But I’m not done. Not yet. There just too much that needs to get out. Maybe it will never be enough.

Hell, hurting myself is not enough.

I swirl around, seeking. Find that during all of this the merc is merely sitting there; unperturbed; as if I’m not even there, _reading_ a fucking mag. Totally at ease. Unbe-fucking-livable. I don’t know if I’m impressed or if this show of grit pisses me off even more. I feel like I need to destroy something. Anything.

Two steps and I’m at his desk, the battered Avenger winking at me. Only then he moves, pulling the rifle away before I can snatch it.

“Bloody hell no. Not the only girl that never let me down,” he rumbles, focus already back on his mag. Instead he kicks the chair in my direction. I grab it and hurl it against the wall.

I rage.

I yell.

Again. And again.

Finally the cheap material gives way and breaks, pieces falling from my hands. I double over, breathing deeply. Think the worst is over. For one, I didn’t even feel like killing anyone any longer. Not even the Cheerleader. What would be the point, anyway? _She_ hadn’t even been there. I just… want to curl up somewhere silent and dark and be left alone.

I lift my head. Massani is watching me, face like a mask made to scare people's pants off. I expect some old man’s wise crap. Play nice. Get a grip. They are not your enemy. Blah, blah. Spare me.

Instead –

“Better?” he merely asks.

I nod and he tosses me a metal flask he pulls out from under his cot. I take a deep gulp. Fire burns down my throat. I cough.

“Fuck me, what’s that? Krogan piss?”

“No. But have ya ever heard of Kahjehen sea slugs? See, they scrape off the excess secretion from their anal glands and...”

The nasty shit struggles to back up into my mouth again. I press my lips together. Barfing on the deck like a real badass. No thank you.

His face twitches into an even uglier grimace. Then I realize he is grinning. ‘the fuck…

“Never had any real highland scotch, eh?” He asks and barks a laugh.

I gave him my darkest glare. _You’re so going to die in pain,_ it says. It bounces off from him like a handful of meds from a wall. What is wrong with this idiot? People fear me. And if they don’t then they are at least weary. Hey, even Captain Buttercup is, and she looks like the kind that needs quite a load before bricking it. So why isn’t he?

And why the hell do I even bloody care?

**.~'*'~.**

_20 th September 2185. Day 4 after Purgatory. Some shithole colony at the ass end of nowhere._

Screw this. Just fucking screw this.

Fresh air, for the first time after being locked away for over 10 months - and insects wherever I look.

I’m bunked down with Shepard, those ugly weirdos pushing hard against our defense. At least I can finally do what I do best; killing things quickly and with much bloodshed. Something ‘bout looking for the bright side in a turd, or such I guess.

It is raining again and I’m bleeding like a stuck pig. Should have taken the offered armor. A good thing the shotgun doesn’t mind a shaking hand. Just point in the general direction and _bang!_ I toss the blonde another clip. Then turn around to unleash a warping blast that tears straight through the body of a Collector, flesh and bowls flopping to the ground with a juicy smack. Mhmm. Messy.

The wound in my arm hurts like fuck. I clench my jaw. Bitten by a zombie. Taking orders from Goldilocks. And to top it, I can’t help wondering if those Cerberus morons will manage to get the only tolerable dipstick on that ship killed. Maybe it isn’t too late to snatch a shuttle back to some hellhole and be done with all this bullshit.

Oh please, me helping to defend the universe against the big bad? Never laughed harder. What do I give flying fuck if some space squids got it into their bloody robo heads to nuke everything with a pulse? Look, I've met my share of people, and surprise, surprise; assholes all along the way. It's not as if they don’t have it coming. And Shepard is actually obsessed with saving every single one of those bums. Obsessed! What is wrong with that woman?

A little ahead the krogan tank-brew snatches one of those zombie things. He bellows, the creatures’ head going one way and its body the other. I try not to think about the throbbing pain in my arm and just keep slaying whatever comes across my sight. Never thought to say it but between the krogan steamroller, the turian sniper and Shepard’s aim laced with her crude but powerful biotics I actually have to make an effort to get to my share.

“ASSUMING DIRECT CONTROL!”

Oh this is going to be fun. They’re harder to kill like that.

I release a full load of Katana fury into the face of a Collector nearby. Instead of glee I feel strangely sober about those idiot colonists too weak to defend themselves. Yeah great. Now Commander Awesome is infesting my mind with her nonsense, too. It’s past time to be going. Even the likes of me have some dignity to preserve.

“Kill Shepard, but preserve her body!”

I exchange a look with Shepard whose face had paled.

Yep, bloody past time. Very much.

**.~'*'~.**

The pain in my arm had become worse.

Much worse.

I’m so dizzy I can barely stand. Bite me. I knew it. I’m turning into a fucking zombie and Shepard is just standing around, talking without end to one of the colony’s real soldiers. More arguing than talking actually, and just a few minutes top, but it feels like hours. Okay and maybe she asked me if I’m alright. Maybe I told her to shove her concern up her tight little ass.

Then it happens.

Goodbye badassness. Hello disaster. My legs give way and I fold like one of those stupid camping chairs. Before the ground hits my face, I’m yanked up again, a strong fingers digging into my upper arm. I stumble and bounce against an armored body. I grab for a shoulder. The iron grip on my arm shifts for my waist and I look up with a hiss. Hell forbid. The bloody merc is bloody smirking at me and I’m hanging there like a wet rag. Should have known. He’s too fucking annoying to get himself killed.

“Whatcha starin' at, dipstick?”

“You look like somethin’ not even the cat would drag in, asskicker.”

No shit. “Mind your own, Sherlock,” I growl with a glare, somehow finding the strength to stuff lots and lots of deranged maniac into it.

“Heh, or what? You’re going to hurt me plenty?” He rasps and I’m suddenly painfully aware of his vicinity and the arm snaked around my bare waist. Dragging up things better left buried deep. Armor. I need armor.

“I…” I begin and then my eyes roll back into my head.

Fuck me.

I think his touch felt good somehow. 


	3. Freefall into Dissolution

**Through the Eye**

_Inked by blood_   
_We cover up these_   
_Jagged scars of our past_   
_And so I run_   
_Run and hide_   
_From black-winged eyes_   
_So open wide_   
_Watching me_   
_Leading_   
_Demons into my mind_

**.~'*'~.**

_25th September 2185. The Galaxy's most beautiful pisshole._

Maybe those asari bitches really should put up a fat glowing warning sign: 'Welcome to fabulous Nos Astra – where we not only take your money, but also cheat you out of your soul along with your dignity and freedom.' Hard to believe that there is anything in this galaxy that makes Omega look like a good and honest place - and this is just my second day in this perfumed forecourt to tentacleville.

My arm is still aching like a motherfucker. Sure, I had worse but it never hurts to check if my sneer is still in place - because 'looking like a real mean bitch', is one the few thing I'm really good at - then keep trotting after Massani and Commander Uptight through the empty halls of the closed-for-maintenance Dantius Tower One as if we have all the right in the world to. So far it is working well. Disappointingly well. This is not what I understand by 'roughing up some mercs to find an assassin' and that particularly nosey Eclipse guard was hardly enough entertainment for all our troubles. Heh. Passing by thirty floors at 1.2 g certainly cured him from any more ambitions to shoot at becoming employee of the month.

Shaking my head, I eye the short woman striding along in this criminally outdated black leather coat, blond hair hidden below a grey bandana sporting little black rifles. Of all things. I still can't believe that this Van Helsing on privateer raid actually pushed the merc out of the window. Since the moment she stepped out of her uniform this different Shepard is looking at the world through those unnerving green eyes. Who would have thought. Hiding underneath all of Goldilocks' goodie-two-shoes Alliance bullshit is a little derailed psycho with an astonishing readiness for violence. Well, anything but being forced to play nice and watch the turian and Team Cerberus detect their way into a crime-scene, I think.

We reach the top floor. A chilling wind blows up here, but damn, this hellhole has quite a view. Night descended on us but the cities' vibrant lights are illuminating the sky and the horizon and wherever I look like thousands of multi-colored stars. Perfect place to curl up with a six-pack of a beer and a nice line of Red Sand while watching for dawn to come. Too bad we are here for business.

It's just a short hop with the maintenance bridge connecting both towers. Shepard is already over the bridge, heading towards the roof door, gun in hand. I sigh to myself and turn away from the vista, following Massani over the bridge. Close-up it seems even narrower than I thought. Wind pulls at me and I edge forward, the Katana bouncing on its holster strapped to my back. I simply have no head for heights.

Suddenly shouts erupt from somewhere behind. Then gunfire. Massani skitters to a halt at the end of the bridge before me and draws his sniper rifle, shooting back. Combat. Finally. My lips curl up and head tugged in, I start to run, bullets dodging off my shields. I prepare a Barrier. Just a few more steps… I realize the flash of light a fraction of a second before the explosion booms behind me. Suddenly my feet lose contact and I get pushed towards the bridge's edge. _Over_ the edge. I drop and my mind can't even form one coherent thought, let alone a shout. Arms flailing, I claw for the edge, catching _something_ sharp with my right hand. My fall comes to an abrupt halt and I feel as if my arm is yanked out of its socket. The bite wound in my upper arm isn't helping either. Metal cuts into my skin. Tears prick my eyes. From above I hear Massani shouting my name over bursts of gunfire. I think I yell back a 'Fuck them'. The muscles in my right arm strain as I fumble for hold with my left hand. I find none. Above I sense the gravity shift of several mass effect fields while from 3000 feet below, the ground is winking at me. I try again to get a better grip but gravity finally gets the better of me.

My fingers slip on my own blood.

There goes my hold.

Fuck this. Fucking fuck this.

My drop ends after about one foot. Hands are clasping my arm and I look up to find the merc leaning insanely far over the edge. I grab for him with my other hand, still too stunned to think. No one had ever done something like this. Risking his own life just to save mine.

Then he smirks, pulling me up.

"Careful, ass-kicker, it's windy up here."

**.~'*'~.**

_Evening. Of a fucked-up day._

The thoughts inside my mind chase their own tails. Pressure bubbles inside me, making me itch all over.

I want to run. I want to scream.

I want to kill.

Damn it all to hell and back but I need to _do_ something. Anything. I rub my face and drop on my cot. I had been down to the hangar but Shepard is already there beating the shit out of the punching bag. Next to impossible to get some solitary workout time down there with either Goldie or the turian are occupying the space for hours each. Someone apparently got lots and lots of frustration to vent. For a moment I consider… but no. Certainly the Commander is back in full swing and I'm definitely not in the mood to put up with this nonsense right now.

Instead I exhale and reach deep inside. It would have to do. Not as if this is the first time I'm confined somewhere. Raw power runs through me, a feeling like getting seared from the inside out. Like a million razorblades grazing off your nerve tracts, cell by cell, layer by layer. I grit my teeth. So much power. So much strength. All mine; always there, always awaiting my silent command; never more than just one thought, one miniscule gesture away.

A tiny sphere, the size of a ping pong ball, appears above my palms, crackling and flickering blue as it discharges into the air and turns nearby oxygen molecules into ozone. A second sphere. A third. I make them circle like electrons spinning around their invisible core. Sweat breaks out on my face. I add a fourth. Then, keeping the spheres in their orbits, I trap them inside a stasis bubble. They rotate faster. The exertion tugs on my concentration. I still feel myself becoming calmer; losing myself to their spin and the flicker of their lights.

Beautiful. There's so much beauty in destruction. This very moment when matter disintegrates, when it's pulled apart by a greater force, transcending energy to become nothingness. Those idiots out there have no idea. Beauty isn't watching a flower in bloom, it's watching it being consumed by flames. Beauty isn't the youthful face of an all innocent virgin, it's the sinner's scarred hide, telling the sordid tale of a life filled with failure.

I clap my palms together, forcing the biotic spheres to melt and vanish in a flash of light. I finally know what I have to do: I need to get rid of that debt.

Another deep breath and in my mind I'm willing myself away.

See, everybody has this special place inside his head; this certain memory we drag out over and over again just to make our pathetic live bearable.

Mine is the Arena.

It was on Omega, back then when I was with still with those sorry idiots that call themselves Children of Lilith – as if any of Hell's demons would give two shits about _their_ asses. Anyway, we needed money and this illustrious tournament going by the catchy and certainly telling name of 'Blood Games' down in district Kenzo seemed perfect. So I shaved my head, stripped down to the waist and slapped some Duct Tape over my nipples. It's perfect. No shirt, no bra, no threat. We know how those dudes are wired. Yes we do.

Then it is my time. First round, one-on-one fight against another biotic. I'm new and my odds suck. Heh. They will learn… I step into the fighting grounds and something familiar washes over me. It is... almost like _those_ times. When they had drugged me up and pitched me against the other kids. Only this time there are no scientists watching with faces devoid of any emotion. No. I look up to the shadowed tiered seating area where a huge heaving beast is sprawling all around the arena, hooting and screaming for blood from hundreds of throats. Its thirst seems to dwarf even mine.

My opponent is a short, way too innocent looking youth in jeans and a faded brown leather jacket; barely a man, with black hair and pale skin, who seizes me up with a very adult and very victorious leer. I grin back, showing my empty hands, the dark stained sands of the arena spreading between us.

The signal sounded and I advance.

In a blur it is over all too soon; my fingers curling around the boy's neck, lifting him up, while he frantically tries to keep his bowels from slipping through his hands. He really shouldn't have brought a knife.

I drop the dead body and around me the faceless crowd thunders. I'm like one of those ancient Roman gladiators, standing in midst of the coliseum and soaking in the spectator's rapt shouts. I raise my arms and their roar reverberates through me. Singing with the thrill of taking lives. Filling me with warmth and awe like I've never felt before.

I open my eyes, the ecstatic hum tugging and writhing in me like a living thing. No time like the present. Ugh. Now I'm actually starting to sound like _her_.

I stride into Massani's cabin. He's sitting on the edge of the cot, datapad in hand. I snatch the datapad from his grip and toss it on the desk. He looks first at the datapad then at me, raising his brows in question.

I'm on him before he has the chance to say something that might put me off. I press my fingers on his mouth and drop into his lap, straddling his thighs. Maybe I even growl a bit.

My fingers trade place with my mouth. I suck in his lips and give him some teeth. Just so he knows I mean business. Also helps to get me going, so shut the fuck up. I need my little routines to keep things sane and bearable. My nails dig into his scalp. I expect his hands to scoop up my shirt but he's not moving. I flash my tongue one last time and pull back, peeved. Does he think I have all night to waste?

He's eying me with the strangest look. Decidedly suspicious. He grumbles. "What the hell was that?"

I glare back. "A kiss, you fucking moron." Then poking my index finger hard at his chest I add, "I'm not going to owe you."

Suddenly he harrumphs, grabbing my wrist. "Never said you do. And just so you know, _that_ , that ain't no bloody kiss."

My glare darkens. He's going to suffer. Yes he is… Last thing I see is his face distorting into a grin and then he pulls me in by my wrist. Caught by surprise, I feel his lips on mine; a seeking, almost gentle touch, moving on with a slow, but building intent. Like shocked with a living wire, my body stiffens, an odd thrilling sensation fluttering in my guts then firing up my groins. I find my control again and slap him with my free hand. His hand catches mine before I manage to hit him a second time. He still keeps kissing me, the blasted idiot. My toes feel like curling up. I try to bite his tongue, but somehow I forgot how and he evades me every time. Then after an eternity he let go of my mouth, but keeps hold on my hands.

"See?" He says with a wink. " _This_ is a bloody kiss."

"Pff. Two words, Massani. Fucking lame." Did I sound breathless? Inconceivable!

"Why are you really here, Jack?"

"Just as I fucking told you. To get rid of my debt," I say, pulling my hands free.

"Bollocks."

I lock my jaw. Hell no. I was not going to say please. Instead of answering I drag my fingers over his shirt and down his chest. Feel his muscles jump as I reach his abdomen. He glowers at me but his body betrays his wants so easily. Men. Nothing but ever horny troglodytes.

I grin at him and lick my lips. "What does it matter? I'm doing you a favor here."

He snorts, surprisingly unimpressed about me stroking along his pant's crotch. Maybe I just have to rub a little harder and… And then he chuckles. More like a low rumble, coming from somewhere deep inside his chest, but definitely a sound of amusement.

I snatch my hand away. "What is it, Zaeed? You'd rather get yourself some hairy ass?"

His amusement turns into bellowing laugher. "No. Just realizing you've got a lot of things left to learn… Princess."

Okay. That's it. Before I can vent my indignation verbally and physically, he pulls me to his chest and then we fall.

I fall.

And nothing there to stop me this time.

Haven't I seen it all before? The same old lessons, over and over again. Destroy before they destroy you. Use before they use you. And sex? It's just another mean to an end. A single-minded, selfish struggle to get your rocks off. Preferably as quick as possible.

But he is not giving in.

My palms press hard against the naked, surprisingly solid chest, feeling uneven skin, scarred and inked for too many times. Skin like battle-worn armor, bearing the essence of a life. Skin like mine. Fights lost. Fights won. And all those little fucks that tried so hard but could not kill us.

God-fucking-dammit!

My hand curls into a fist. I'm drenched in sweat. My thighs feel like they are going to cramp any moment. I bounce around on top of him like a bloody moron, the sound of skin smacking against skin loud in my ears, and he's just showing me this mutilated grin and _does not give in_.

Maybe it's because he is old. Or maybe he's having a coronary. Maybe it's… My mind turns blank and I tense; eezo nodules firing at random, a flood of power surging inside and rocking me with ecstasy. I feel the need to scream, to release and scream away all the darkness trapped inside.

I bite down on my lip and watch myself disintegrate.

**.~'*'~.**

My eyes snap open.

I couldn't have nodded off for longer than perhaps five minutes. It is five too many. I wiggle out of the merc's blanket. For a moment I think he would wake but then he turns around and keeps frightening the Z's away with his snore.

I jump into my pants, grab the rest of my clothes and escape the cargo hold. The door closes behind me with a hiss and I exhale a fucking long breath.

On the other side of the aisle, the krogan sitting on the floor leans back and cranes his neck to look at me funny. I flip him off with a snarl and hasten down the stairs into my little private realm. Even Shepard with her unholy urges to pry into issues not belonging to her is keeping out. Mostly at least.

I kick off the pants and crawl naked into my own cot wrapping the blanket around me. Sleep is not coming. I stare at the dark above me; my nails burrowing into my scarred palms.

There are many many things wrong with me.

But not _this_.

Never.

I _know_ those assholes out there. People just don't give a rat's ass if some crazy fucked-up bitch falls off the wayside. My instincts perfectly tell me to get the hell outta here and destroy all those fucking weird feelings stuck inside before they could turn against me.

The problem isn't that I let my guards slip and dozed off.

It's that I woke and realized I didn't want to leave.


	4. Madness comes in different flavors

**Inflame**

_My soul_  
 _Bleeding black_  
 _My skin_  
 _Ablaze_  
  
_Push me_  
 _to the flame_  
 _And watch me burn_  
  
_Bones to ashes_  
 _And I am but dust_  
 _In a storm._

**.~'*'~.**

_10 th October 2185. Normandy. Sometime past midnight._

I’m no saint.

In fact I’m as fucking far away from a saint as one could possibly be. I’m a sinner. A killer. Ruthless and unapologetic. I’m the rabid wolf watching you from the dark, sensing your fear; hooked up on the ultimate moment when my teeth tear into your warm flesh. Welcome to the _real_ Circle of Life, bitch.

And still… despite my deeply ingrained addiction to violence, whenever I fuck up I feel the unexplainable need to bake.

I fuck up a damn lot.

That’s why my cookies are unbe-fucking-livably good - and on the day, when being a homicidal criminal doesn’t cut it anymore, I'm going to open the Cupcake Asylum and sell pastries in little gift baskets.

Aww, relax, I’m just screwing with you. We all know that crime will never stop being lucrative.

It’s still kind of a weirdly comforting thought. One that diverts my mind from the real reason why I’m standing in the Normandy’s galley in the dead of the night, baking sweet innocent cookies.

15 days. I stayed clear for 15 bloody days. Had thought I had sat this temporary insanity out. Wrong. So wrong. I violate the dough with the spoon.

_Die, die, die._

The dough gives in silently. It neither erases the stinging feel of shame that burns my skin nor the distinct soreness between my legs.

I should have never gone there.

And I certainly should have never allowed myself to be _touched_ by the merc’s words. I mean, it’s just another sordid story of violence and betrayal as it happened out there a thousandfold with every damn moment that passed. Maybe it was the bitterness in his voice. The hot-searing hatred in his eyes, I’m so fucking familiar with. He spoke about Vido and there was something… something that _connected_ through the scarred wounds, the endless rage and the deep black abyss within. Memories clawed their way to the surface and before I knew what I was doing I spilled my guts and no thoughts wasted on the bloody mess it would leave behind.

I spoke about the facility and then I fucked the hell out of him again. No deal, no agenda attached this time. Just because… it made me feel good somehow. A little less like some screwed-up subject and a little more like a real person. A person who actually deserves to be cared for.

Of course it is just another delusion. This world’s a jungle and you’re either the merciless bitch seeking nothing but your own pleasures or the free-for-all doormat. The victim.

My knuckles turn white on the spoon. Been there. Hell if I ever go back.

The oven beeps, I shake myself and set the hot tray on the counter with a lot more force than necessary. I dump the finished mass on the second tray. The soft sound of footsteps gives me a start. No. The old bastard certainly knows better than to come here. Not after I fled from the Cargo Hold like a freaked out virgin at the sight of a loaded dick. Again.

Maybe if I just kill him quickly enough? I certainly could get rid of the corpse using the thrash compacter before anyone would notice.

Yeah, yeah. Instead I busy myself with shoving the ready tray in the oven and start to cut the still warm mass into squares. I squint up and it’s a relief to see that it’s just Shepard. That is until she opens her mouth.

“Cookies?”

I swear, any more amusement on her face and I’m going to punch her.

“No. High-nutrition field rations. Nuts, oats, dried fruits, mainly acai; and I use this specially refined asari honey. Tastes like ass but gives four times the calories of a standard energy bar. I’ve the bloody feeling I better stock up before you’re working me to death,” I hear myself say way too pleasantly.

What _is_ wrong with me? Quickly I add a menacing scowl. Keep it up despite noticing the dark circles below her haunted eyes. Her face too haggard to be glossed-over by all her disturbing mirth. As much as I want to ignore it, I’ve unfortunately been trapped on the ship for far too long to unsee and unhear what is going on. Not that I cared, of course.

“If you want my opinion: it was a fucking mistake to let Vakarian off the ship. You need people who can gun things down on first sight.”

“Uh-huh. It wasn’t as if I had much of a choice. Couldn’t just tie him down and bolt his ass to the deck, y’know?” She mumbled, her cheeks coloring.

I shrug and my lips curl up. So scuttlebutt’s right. Princess Buttercup _is_ worked up because she screwed her alien toy boy off before he got her little xenophilic trunk humped. I wonder if she’s trying to lick the drell next –the green-skinned moralizer obviously can’t wait to drop his pants for her. Shit. And everyone says I’m the freak in here.

“So. Massani, eh…”

For a second I fantasize about shoving the knife into her eye socket, but yeah. Somehow I have my doubts that it would stop the likes of her.

“Fuck you, Shepard,” I growl but something in the way she’s grinning at me is oddly contagious.

Ew. Me and Commander Awesome, BFF.

I think I’m going to barf.

**.~'*'~.**

_2 hours later._

I still can’t sleep.

I’m bunked down in my cot and stare at the underside of the Engineering deck, chewing on one of my _special_ cookies, pondering… things. Apparently this is the night for everybody to show off their scars, but hey - don’t get any ideas. Just because that woman is damaged by her past as well, it doesn’t mean I’m trusting her. She still chose to put up with the Alliance and all the other compliant bullshit – voluntarily. If this isn’t the proof that Shepard lost all contact with the mothership, I don’t know what else is.

Feeling the buzz of Red Sand kicking in, I fish for the datapad that grants me access to some of Cerberus’ databases. Despite being the only reason for me to board this flying loony bin in the first place, every time I’m holding the bloody thing in hand, I’m feeling strangely hesitant. It disgusts me, but I think I’m afraid. No matter how much I carve for revenge, how badly I want to pursue and kill each and everyone involved, there is always this little girl inside me that just wants to forget…

Thanks to the Red Sand I have no troubles to ignore the little wimp now. I feel faster. Stronger. Confident to seek out and destroy whatever stands in my way. I take a breath and start my search.

Talking to Massani earlier had been a disgrace – but it also made me remember _things_. Details. A name.

Teltin.

They called the facility Teltin.


End file.
